


Leopold Hits Snow

by ByTheDawn



Series: 300challenge [14]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByTheDawn/pseuds/ByTheDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the #300Challenge, based off of the title prompt. Leopold hits Snow, and Regina picks up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leopold Hits Snow

Snow whimpered miserably as Regina pressed the wet cloth against her burning cheek. Puffy skin stood out even brighter now the swelling had set in, and Snow couldn't keep her lower lip from quivering as tears streamed down her cheek steadily, only increasing the redness of the spot where Leopold's hand had impacted with his daughter's cheeks.

Regina should be happy, should be revelling in Snow's pain and misery. She should be jumping for joy that for once, Leopold had not let Snow White get away with her whining... but watching her now—all wide eyes and barely contained sobs—Regina was reminded that Snow was just a child, and no child deserved to be struck, no matter the crime. Regina had been struck with the flat of a hand, had suffered the disciplined blows of the belt, and had been hurt by magic more times than she cared to recount; she knew that all were punishments doled out by the weak, and dabbing marred skin now was a sure sign of weakness on Leopold's part.

“Hold this against your cheek, dear.” She said softly, pressing the cloth a little more firmly against Snow's skin as an indicator. A trembling hand came up to follow Regina's instructions and large brown eyes stared into her own trustingly, breaking Regina's heart in a way that both infuriated and saddened her. She didn't want to feel sympathy for Snow White, but it was hard not to identify with her when she could envision so well how she must be feeling. 

“What are you going to do?” Snow asked hesitantly as Regina righted herself in the palace kitchens, aware that the staff she had shoed out would want back in soon to continue dinner preparations. She let her eyes linger on Snow's young form as she sat on the large table in her pretty blue dress—a princess out of place. Focussing on the pain in her eyes, Regina sighed. She wanted her revenge against Snow, yes, but not like this. 

“I am going to have a word with your father,” she started, making use of the only title besides 'king' she could force herself to commit to. “...and make it clear that if he ever lays a hand on you again, he will have to go through me.”

Snows eyes widened even further and dampened when the implications of Regina’s actions—as incorrect as her assumptions about them were, Regina reminded herself—hit her.

“You would do that for me?” She asked incredulously, and Regina felt her anger flare in a way that was not only scary but dangerous. She quickly turned away so Snow wouldn't see. Suddenly the heat from the cooking fires was too oppressive, the space too full of pots and pans and foodstuffs. Suddenly, it was a little too much.

“Think nothing of it, dear.” She dismissed the sentiment, but kept her voice neutral enough to cover her malice with humility. “Keep that towel to your cheek. I'll send Johanna to collect you and get you ready for dinner.”

She rushed to leave the kitchen before she would do something to Snow she would not be able to cover up or deny, but when Snow White called her name, she found herself turning back automatically to the fragile princess parked without poise between a sack of potatoes and a chopping board with unions. She looked so small and broken that for a moment, all hate drained from her system and she was overcome with a crushing sympathy for a young girl she understood all too well. Her heart flew to her throat at the realization that underneath all the anger, it had never been Snow she hated at all, but someone she would never truly be able to hurt—not without getting stronger and drowning in revenge. 

Painstakingly, she forced herself to recollect the account of Daniel's death, of the way Snow White had aided her captivity... she called up every little offense committed against her by the young brunette and slowly the familiar hate slipped back in place like a glove or well-worn armour. She ignored the quiet 'thank you' that fell from young red lips and instead swung herself around stiffly, hoisting up her dresses to expedite her escape. She would talk to Leopold, alright, but it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean she was weak or that Snow was growing on her—annoying little brat that she was—it only meant that she was keeping up appearances. Just that.

It was a justification she could live with—abide just barely—and her self-loathing over the flutter of need that she had felt at Snow's gratitude proved to be a valuable fuel source for the plans to her liberation and revenge.


End file.
